


cake smash

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Brief non-sexual mentions at the beginning of, Bukkake, Come Marking, Comeplay, Creampie, Facials, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Misuse of Medical Equipment, Needles, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porn with alien headcanons??, Scent Kink, Top Lance (Voltron), Wet & Messy, artificial semen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “The bioreplicator can reproduce almost any biological material!" Coran says cheerfully. "Of course fluids are easy, just plug in a sample and off you go. But a skilled expert can rebuild entire organs! Why, I once knew a fellow - "Lance's very unhelpful and very inappropriate brain pings, without any other prompt or input:*Any* biological material, huh?
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 585
Collections: Anonymous





	cake smash

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a timing AU: Keith is part of the Blade but he's still the Red Paladin, Lance is in Blue, and they're in their early twenties and have been paladins for at least a few years now. 
> 
> This is terrifically stupid and self-indulgent. I present it without further justification or apology.

What starts the whole thing is actually completely awful and traumatizing and not sexy at all: Hunk takes a giant chunk of shrapnel to the thigh.

It turns out you can't just pop someone into a healing pod while they've got an arterial bleed going, or they'll just bleed out into the pod juice faster than it can fix them. As a universal donor, Lance is a match. But he’s the only one in their group, the Red Cross still has not expanded outside the Milky Way (or Earth), let alone this side of the Virgo Cluster, and he’s no doctor but this is looking very much like a _more than one donor_ kind of situation. Hunk's unconscious, Shiro’s strapping a tourniquet on his leg, there's blood everywhere, and Lance is having a total hysterical meltdown when Coran careens to a stop beside him with a machine on a cart. It looks like the unholy, many-chambered child of an espresso machine and a cabinetful of chemistry sets.

Lance thrusts an arm out, sleeve rolled up.

"Take as much as you need," he chokes out.

"Right-o!" Coran says, already moving to stick Lance with a small syringe. He draws only a few drops before pulling it out. Lance gets a band-aid slapped into his still-out-stretched hand. The syringe gets plunged into a port in the top of the machine.

"I told you, I should be a match - how long is this test gonna take?" Lance shrills, eyes darting between the machine and Hunk, then freezing on the machine and popping wide as the clear tanks along its sides begin to well up with thick liquid red.

"No time, we’ll just have to trust your feeble human medical knowledge and hope for the best!" Coran is saying, even as he pops out the first tank - each of them has to be nearly a liter - and rigs it up.

"This is amazing," Lance says when Hunk is stabilized and safely in the pod, and he has the emotional counter space to be properly awed by alien miracles of medical technology. There are six empty liter-ish tanks, and several more still full in the machine. It’s like, at least two Lances' worth of blood, and he doesn’t even need orange juice and a cookie to recover. "You can just make a ton of whatever blood you need from that tiny bit?"

“Not just blood! The bioreplicator can reproduce almost any biological material!" Coran says cheerfully, stacking up the empty tanks on the cart. "Of course fluids are easy, just plug in a sample and off you go. But a skilled expert can rebuild entire organs! Why, I once knew a fellow - "

It's not until later, after Hunk is up and about again and everything has calmed down and Keith gives him one of _those_ looks, that his brain pings, without any other prompt or input:

 _Any_ biological material, huh?

* * *

See, the thing is...

Keith has this...thing. A Thing, if you will.

It might be a Galra Thing? Lance would rather die a thousand screaming deaths than ask Coran, or any of their Blade allies. It’s something he should probably bring up with his actual boyfriend – good communication and all that. But he’s hesitated to follow through, because if he’s right, getting Keith to talk about it will be like pulling teeth with kid gloves on. 

Not that Lance blames him. Keith is direct about most things, but Lance has learned the hard way that he struggles to talk about himself and what he likes and needs, and on top of that his Galra side is a big raw sore spot the size of Texas. The poor guy's been learning that a hundred little oddities that never seemed related, when put all together, are a blinking neon sign pointing right at the non-human half of his heritage despite how little he looks it. His caffeine allergy. The way he just _knows_ which way is magnetic north when planetside. His red-green colorblindness _could_ be from his father's side – but his inability to name other colors, the ones he grew up being told he was making up – colors apparently popular in Galra information displays, invisible and unreadable to the other paladins – that's pretty obviously from his mom’s side.

It makes the red paladin feel like a stranger in his own skin, he once confided to Lance, face down in Lance's pillow and shoulders hunched to his ears, venting in halting, bitter fragments after a thoughtless comment from an alien diplomat lodged like a splinter. How he already spent his childhood feeling like a freak, then trying to internalize Shiro's assurances that he wasn't, and is now finding all over again that he _is_ in all these ways that he never even suspected weren’t normal on top of all the things he _knew_ were weird – and then guilty for feeling that way, because the Galra are just people too. Because he knows it’s not _bad,_ just _different_ , but he’s just so tired of feeling _different._

So. Lance just rolls with the things that strike him as odd.

On the other hand, maybe he's the one overthinking it. After all, it took about 0.3 seconds after the first time it happened for Lance to discover that, wow, yup, it is super definitely a _Thing_ for him too. This could all be 100% Grade A Human Kinkiness. But back on the first hand, Lance is pretty sure it would never have occurred to him if Keith hadn’t started it….

Ok, look, here it is. Here’s the Thing:

Keith likes it when Lance comes on him.

Or maybe marking in general? Lance can't persuade him to spend more than two minutes on his appearance in the morning, but he's caught Keith working his angles like a wannabe model to admire hickies in the bathroom mirror when he thinks Lance isn’t looking. Of course he's always careful to cover them up after…with the petulant, wistful attitude of a someone on a New Year’s resolution diet turning down a slice of cheesecake. Even more than that, Keith seems to have a thing about smelling like Lance, and vice versa. He steals Lance's twice-worn shirts and swaps them with his own, delays showering until after breakfast when they've co-slept – once Lance even found him sprawled on their bed with half his face buried in Lance's pillow, eyes half-lidded and breathing deeply in a near doze.

But Keith _really_ likes it when Lance comes on him.

They haven’t talked about it. Keith usually just kind of demands it in the heat of the moment. Down his chin or on his chest when blowing him, over his stroking fingers during handies, where, he once confessed, drunk and smirking, he could still smell it a day afterward. All over his ass and the backs of his thighs, on one very memorable occasion, when Lance caught him lazily rubbing it into his skin when he came back from his post-sex pee break.

Lance is pretty certain Keith's sense of smell is much better than any full-blooded human or Altean. Or he really hopes so. He still gets light-headed over the fact that Keith Kogane actually _wants_ Lance written all over him in bruises and spunk and, apparently, lingering scents, but he's pretty sure he'd die of brain implosion on the spot if the rest of the team could catch a whiff every time they had sex.

Oh _god_ , Keith's Blade buddies probably _can_.

Okaaay, time to jump off this train of thought! Contemplating a bunch of giant purple ninja warriors sniffing out his kind-of-kinky, possibly-alien sex life is just going to give him wrinkles.

Anyway!

Just like Coran said, the machine is pretty easy to use. Plug in a sample and off he goes.

* * *

"What the hell is that?" Keith asks when Lance tracks him down in their bathroom, only pausing in his shaving routine long enough to glance briefly through the mirror. (He doesn't seem to grow facial hair on his chin or upper lip at all, but Lance thinks he could get some pretty gnarly muttonchops going if he wanted to.) "Please tell me that's not some kind of traditional Altean paladin protein shake."

"Um, well." Lance stamps down the slightly hysterical giggle bubbling up in his chest. It has already taken him nearly ten pacing minutes to work up the nerve to bring it into their quarters, and without even starting his pitch he’s already regretting his life decisions. "You sure _could_ describe it as a sort of paladin protein shake?"

He's liberated one of the squeeze bottles Hunk uses for oils and sauces and stuff from the kitchen. It’s about the size of a soda bottle, and completely full. It’s an obscene amount of the stuff, because Lance still doesn’t really get Altean measurements and what was he supposed to do, leave some of it in the machine?

Oblivious to his plight, Keith is one big long-suffering wince.

"I wish Coran would knock it off with the alien food gunk. I'm pretty sure he's bullshitting us about them being Altean tradition," he grumbles to his reflection, treating the bottle to a sideways stinkeye. "Fuck's sake." His brow scrunches in a suppressed laugh, shoulders hopping. "It kind of looks like spunk."

"Funny you should say that," Lance squeaks.

Keith pauses in the middle of wiping the remaining shaving cream off his jaw, eyes narrowing. "...Why are you acting so weird? What is that stuff?"

"You know the medical replicator?"

There's a long beat as Keith's face goes through a series of disbelieving acrobatics. Oh god, this was a terrible idea.

"Oh my god. Did - is that? Lance?!"

Lance throws out both arms, nearly flinging his questionable creation into the wall. "What? What?! Look, just - here." He catches Keith's wrist and slaps the bottle into his hand.

"Lance, did you - " Keith starts again, but still cannot find words. His face is going red. It seems to be equal parts embarrassment and trying (and failing) to repress a bout of mad laughter. He shakes the bottle back at him as though it's news to Lance. "Lance! What the fuck!"

"Shut up!"

"Did you _whack off into the magic alien blood transfusion machine_?" Keith forces out the shrill whisper, eyes darting to the bathroom door as though Coran or Shiro or – hell, literally anyone – will come bursting in any second. The way he’s holding the bottle, you’d think it was a live grenade.

In a stupid metaphorical way Lance guesses it is.

"I thought you'd be into it! Stop laughing!"

"Into -?" Realization visibly breaks over Keith like a cooler of ice as he connects the dots outlining why Lance might have gone through the trouble of fabricating nearly a liter of his own semen. He swallows hard, suddenly unable to meet Lance's eyes. "Uh. Shit. Wow."

Lance's ears are going to spontaneously combust any second. "If - oh my god. Look, we can - if you don't want - we can just throw it out the airlock and forget about it."

Keith's eyes flicker to him, to the bottle, back to him, back to the bottle. After a tense moment, during which Lance unfortunately does not dissolve on the spot, he flicks the cap open and takes a confirming sniff.

When Keith looks back up at him, his eyes are darkened and dilated. They dart back and forth, searching his own. "Explain.”

"God. Quiznack. I just -" Lance covers his scalding face with one hand. "I swear it seemed like a good idea at the time! Because when we – and, and I like it, and you – it seems like you – it’s a – It’s a _Thing_ , right? I’m not imagining this? Oh my god, Keith, please just say something—"

Keith prowls close. The bottle presses between them, somehow burning into his chest like a brand despite being much cooler than the warmth of Keith's hand sliding up his arm. Neither has anything on the simmering heat of his voice. "What was your idea?"

Ok, they’re good. This is good. His confidence peeks tentatively from the grave it’s been digging itself. “Well,” says Lance, and swallows. He leans in, aims for casual, but it comes out more like a question. “I thought…you could have it anywhere you want, instead of having to pick a spot?”

They’re close enough that he can feel Keith’s breath hitch. “Uh huh?”

Oh yeah. That’s a good tone. Who’s the sharpshooter who nailed his boyfriend’s kink? This guy.

“Yeah,” he says more smoothly. Keith leans into him easily when Lance hooks a finger in his belt loop, pulling him close enough to nudge that sensitive spot under his jaw then whisper in his ear, “Or maybe _everywhere_ you want. We could make a little bit of a mess, would you like that?” Keith shivers encouragingly. “Or a lot of a mess?”

Lance just barely has the presence of mind to catch the bottle when Keith drops it to grab him by the collar and kiss him, hot and intense and hungry. Oh _hell_ yes, it’s on. No wait. Keith is pulling away again, why –

“Gonna shower,” Keith grunts, muffled as he yanks his shirt off over his head with one hand.

“Wha –“ Still left hanging after that kiss, Lance blinks after his rapidly-stripping boyfriend, whose hair is still damp from bathing. “Didn’t you just -?”

His now very _naked_ boyfriend cocks a look at him over his shoulder from the shower entrance – cocks his brow and hips, too, in a way that is, uh…eye-catching. “If it’s going everywhere I want, I’m gonna want you inside me.”

“Ooooooh right, right right,” Lance says. Clears his throat. “…You want any help?”

“I don’t think we’re going to get very far if you ‘help’.”

“I can spot you! I can—provide moral support!”

* * *

Lance insists that if they do this on their bed, they're going to have to punt the mattress into space and light a hundred scented candles. As far as he can tell nobody else on the team can smell for shit, but if his all-human boyfriend says it will be noticeable, Keith will take his word on it. So they waste some time sneaking around the Castleship with their contraband like giggly delinquents trying not to get caught after curfew even though everyone else is planetside all day, scoping out where they can make tidy _and_ private use of a coke bottle of jizz.

(Hell, even after the last few years with front row seats ( _and_ backstage passes (heh)) to the Lance Espinosa McClain 24-Hour Dramatics Show, Keith still can't believe he had the sheer shamelessness to _do that_.

For _Keith_ , because he thought Keith would like it. The whole thing is electric-hot, but that – that glows in his chest, an ember of sweet warmth.)

They end up barricading themselves in a washroom in an out-of-the-way corner of the Castleship that features an oversized sunken tub, easily big enough for them to lie down side-by-side in the bottom with room to spare. Piling in several thick, plush towels turns the cold not-marble into a comfortable nest. Keith figures they can just chuck the towels out the airlock when they're done, if Lance still thinks they're irredeemable. Or – the mental image of them splatting across some poor alien's windshield crosses his mind. Maybe they're better off down incineration chute.

(If one gets misplaced and ends up hidden in their bathroom for a while...nobody needs to know.)

Whatever, that’s a problem for later.

Right _now_ , he’s standing in the tub making out with his embarrassingly perceptive, dangerously creative boyfriend in his underwear, which is plenty to keep his mind occupied. Keith is already half hard against the warm nudge of Lance's own swelling cock, the contact through the thin fabric making his blood sing. He's forced to bend slightly when Lance sits on the edge of the tub and reels him in by hooking his heels behind Keith's legs, cupping his face and kissing him sweetly.

Hell, Keith wants to taste him so bad.

Without further consideration he drops down. Snugs in, his knees pillowed by layers of thick towel and shoulders comfortably bracketed by Lance's gorgeous legs, warm skin contrasting pleasantly with the cool not-actually-marble edge of the tub against his chest and belly. So often they’re in a rush, snatching twenty minutes here between training and meetings or stealing an hour there from what time they have to sleep. It’s a luxury to take it slow, hug around that lean waist and nuzzle Lance through his underwear, breathing him in. His gaze is drawn up through his lashes when Lance’s fingers curl around the shell of his ear to tuck back a lock of unruly hair.

Keith smiles, fondness welling up and bursting in his chest. “Hey.”

“Heyyy,” Lance returns, with a wink and a fingergun, earning an eyeroll.

In his peripheral Lance’s other hand drops to the bottle by his hip, toying with it, and it suddenly crashes over Keith that this is about to get – weird. He wants it so bad, sparks slithering down his spine and legs, but….

It's not that weird, not for a Galra, he reminds himself again, while also trying very hard not to dwell on that humiliating time a very matter-of-fact and no-nonsense Blade medic pulled him aside after an embarrassing social gaffe to deliver _The Talk 2: Alien Boogaloo_. Like most sequels nobody asked for, it was even more cringeworthy than the one a red-eared Shiro recited at him when he was a teenager.

(At least there weren’t cartoon-illustrated pamphlets from the health clinic this time.)

But that’s just it. Maybe in theory it shouldn’t be weird for _him_ , but Lance is all human. Even though his boyfriend has patiently tolerated so much of his alien bullshit – the first of the team to approach him after the whole business with meeting the Blade, the one who came up with this idea in the first place – he must think this is so fucking freaky.

They haven't even started and Keith already feels flayed open.

"Hey, you ok?" Lance asks, and he realizes he’s practically hyperventilating in his boyfriend's crotch. Usually his scent is calming, but that’s the very fact that's freaking Keith out right now.

“Yeah, just...nervous," he admits, eyes squeezing shut.

"Is it, uh, weird like this?" Lance shuffles a little on the edge of the tub. "Do you want to stand, or…should I come down there?

“…How does that make it less weird,” Keith manages after a moment.

"I just don't want - does it feel degrading like this? With me like…above you…."

Confused, Keith peers up. Lance's face is pink. “Not really?”

His boyfriend chews at his lip, shifting again. “Babe, talk to me. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

Keith huffs an awkward laugh at that, pressing his face back into his warm thigh. “It’s not you, I just – I just need to get over it.”

“If something is bothering you—”

“It’s not like you can go back and make me _not Galra_.” He doesn’t _want_ to be angry, not right now, not like this. Not with Lance. But he can feel it rising up in his chest, half like lava and half like bile.

“So it _is_ a Galra thing.” It’s a statement, not a question, and he wonders how much Lance has thought about it. Keith doesn’t even notice he’s flinched until a hand comes down to comb his hair away from his forehead, soothing.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, far less certainly. “Mostly? I haven’t done this with anyone else, so I don’t know how much is….” Is human, he can’t bring himself to finish. By the way he’s reacted in the past it’s pretty obvious Lance doesn’t mind, at least, but he doesn’t respond to scent the same way, Keith is pretty sure it’s completely different for him.

Lance waits a moment, and when he doesn’t go on, says carefully, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No!” Keith surprises himself with his own vehemence. “No, I want to. If you do.”

“I already told you I thought it’d be sexy. But only if you feel good about it.”

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah.” Lance pets at his hair. “Hey…I know you don’t like to talk about the Galra stuff but…maybe it would be good for us to be on the same page?”

"…Yeah," Keith says reluctantly.

Before the silence can get uncomfortable, Lance takes the lead into awkwardness territory. Thank god, Keith has no idea where to even start. “Is it like…a territorial…thing?”

“Uh, sort of? But not really?” Keith tries to remember how the medic explained it to him. That conversation had been in Galran, though, and it had made a lot of instinctive sense, putting terms and clear rules to things he already felt or had picked up on at the Blade. “Scent is a bigger deal for Galra? Than it is for humans.”

“I had noticed you have a crazy strong sense of smell, yes,” Lance said dryly. He’s probably thinking about all the arguments they’ve had over his various lotions and hair goops, some of which are actually really nice and some of which smell like garbage. The Olkari stuff in particular – Keith doesn’t know what it is, but there’s some plant or chemical in a lot of their soaps that has an unbearable eggy stink, no matter what Lance says it does for his skin.

“You mean your total nose blindness,” Keith retorts. “So…yeah. They use it to communicate. Not like talking, but sort of like facial expressions? You can pick up how someone’s feeling by how they smell.”

“Does it work on humans too? Like, can you read our minds from what we smell like?” Lance sounds fascinated.

“It’s not psychic. And uh, mostly not,” Keith says, squirming a little. “Some things…sweat smells really different from someone being sick, or too hot or exercising, or being scared. And a few other things. But it’s mostly…pretty different. I don’t think humans really…uh, are wired to signal things that way….”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So when someone…” Keith scratches his jaw, grasping for a good translation of the Galran word. “Uh, puts their smell on you….”

Lance’s eyes bulge. “Uhh, like –“

“No!” Keith blurts. “I mean, yes, but not always – “ his eyes flick down to the swell in Lance’s briefs, gone soft and slack, and back up, his ears heating. “They do it for a lot of stuff, not just uh, sex. Sometimes it’s like, group or family bonding. Or this sort of…uh, to show respect, or kind of…trust? Or authorization?” Lance looks confused, so he swallows down his discomfort and shrugs out of the warm clasp of Lance’s legs, clambering to his feet. “Um, so if Kolivan wants me to take an important message to someone, he…” Keith holds out a hand, gesturing for Lance’s. When he holds it out, instead of taking it in a handshake as he clearly expects Keith takes the proffered hand and turns it palm down, then grasps his forearm, pressing his pulsepoint against the back of Lance’s wrist, before dropping it awkwardly. “Like that. And then whoever is receiving the message knows Kolivan really sent me.”

“What, like getting a stamp at a theme park?”

“Sort of?” Keith grimaces, waggling his hand. “But it’s more than just a security stamp, it’s…Kolivan is saying I represent him. I smell like him, and so they know he trusts me to speak for him.”

“Huh,” Lance says again, frowning, but it’s his thinking frown. “Wait, so – with those computer and door locks that only open if you’re Galra – do they actually detect DNA, or are they reacting to some kind of Galra pheromone?”

Keith shrugs. It never occurred to him to ask.

“We should ask Pidge.”

“Uhhh…” Keith shuffles his bare feet. “Maybe sometime.”

“Hey, we don’t have to. But if it’s something that can help us against the Empire…”

“Maybe? According Ranek a lot of this stuff is frowned on, under Zarkon. Their armor is designed to block a lot of the – pheromones? And their military rations have this medicine to repress some of them. It’s seen as primitive, I guess. They’re not exactly big on trust and bonding.”

“Shocking,” he says dryly, and Keith can’t help but huff a laugh.

“Yeah.” Lance reaches out to hold his hips, making Keith realize he’s been shifting anxiously from foot to foot. He forces himself to stop and try to relax, letting his hands slide up Lance’s arms. He’s taking this all a lot better than Keith feared he might, so he braces and forges onward. “In the Blade it’s kind of a big deal. Kind of…going back to their roots, before Zarkon fucked up their culture. So it’s pretty normal in the Blades for them to smell like their friends and partners and stuff.”

Lance is already flapping his long hands in distress as he speaks. “Wait. So. Oh man. All your Marmite ninja buddies totally have smelled it when we’ve had sex?!”

“Uh, yep.”

Lance makes a strangled sound and collapses to lie flat on his back, knees still hanging over the edge of the tub.

“Oh my goooood,” he wails. “Babe, I love you so much and I respect your beautiful alien heritage and the glowy eye thing and even the scent thing are super hot and I want to tell the whole universe all the time that I somehow lucked out and you’re my gorgeous super-ninja boyfriend who I get to kiss on the face, all of that is still one thousand percent true. I just need a minute to deal with knowing Kolivan knows what my jizz smells like.”

Keith winces. “I mean yeah, probably. I haven’t talked to _him_ about it, but some of the Blades are pretty open about that kind of stuff…I think they think it’s cute? Kind of like having someone’s photo in your wallet.”

Lance slaps both palms over his face and makes more dying cow sounds.

A pit opens up in his stomach. “Sorry, I didn’t really think about…I mean I did but…I don’t know, it seems so normal for them, it was weird at first but…I should have asked—"

“Whoa, hey, no. I’m just—being overdramatic,” Lance flails back upright.

“No, you’re not overdramatic,” Keith says. His instinct is to cross his arms, but he can’t let Lance take this on himself just because Keith is uncomfortable, so he captures Lance’s waving hands in his instead and looks him in the eye. “I didn’t think about how you’d feel about them knowing, I should have said something to you about it at least.”

Lance raises one finger. “Ok first of all, if I could get that first part on recording, that would be great.”

Dropping his hands, Keith rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Hey. It’s ok. Really.” Warm arms wrap around him in a hug, and Keith returns it, letting his own loop over his non-overdramatic boyfriend’s shoulders. Maybe not _overdramatic_ , but still dramatic. Lance starts petting him again, slow soothing strokes up and down the sides of his thighs. “So all those Margaritas know you’ve got a man already.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, smiling softly. “It’s…um. I like it. When I’m there. I have a reminder that –” he wants to stare down at his feet, shy, but he looks Lance in the eye as he says, “that I’ve got, um, a family. And a partner. Someone who, uh. Chose me.”

It’s still unfamiliar, that. Even Shiro had been assigned to him as a mentor, before he inexplicably took a shine to the moody orphan he’d been saddled with. So many people got him dumped on them, over the years. But with Red, with Lance… it’s different.

“Awwwwww,” Lance singsongs, and his tone is teasing but his cheeks pink and his eyes arc into happy curves. “You miss me!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You know I do,” he says, leaning down to bump their foreheads together, pleased when Lance pulls him closer, arms locking at the small of his back.

“So it’s basically like having a reminder of me with you?” Lance repeats, sounding almost surprised as he turns the thought over.

“Yeah,” he says, pausing, then goes on, cheeks heating, “And, um. I…it makes me feel good? Knowing I made you feel good? Like I did something right.” Lance’s mouth has fallen slightly open, eyes round as he stumbles onward, because this is something embarrassing, but maybe Lance deserves to hear it. “I, uh, I mean you always smell really good. Like, _really good._ But _that_ smells like, uh, like you want me. And I just, I…it’s nice to be _wanted_ back and not just needed.”

Lance seems speechless for a moment. His arms lock around Keith’s waist even tighter. “I do,” he says finally, sounding a little creaky. “Want you. I love you.”

“I know,” Keith says, relaxing, and laughs quietly. “I can smell it. I love you too.”

Lance stretches up a little to kiss him under the jaw, and mumbles into the skin there. “Sometimes it’s still crazy to me. That you want _me._ ”

“I do.” Keith’s eyes shutter helplessly. He’s so sensitive there. He still doesn’t know if _that_ is a Galra thing or not – he ran for it before Ranek started talking about erogenous zones – he just knows he likes when Lance touches him there.

“I know”, Lance parrots him reassuringly. “But it’s still – I like having a reminder too, I guess.” He looks embarrassed, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I can’t believe sometimes that you _want_ me all over you. It’s just really –“ Lance lets out a rush of breath that puffs against his chest. “—thought you were perfect for so long –“

“I’m not perfect.”

“You’re perfect for _me_ ,” Lance says, winking up at him. “But, I know. I know you now, I know I was projecting, but. You just seemed so untouchable to me for a long time that,” his cock twitches against Keith’s thigh, “it’s really hot that you let me make a mess of you. That you _want_ me to make a mess of you.”

There’s really nothing Keith can say to that. He _does_ want, wants so bad, wants to wallow in Lance and his smell and the comfort of his presence and his love. Instead of trying to find words he kisses him, tries to pour his response into Lance directly, and Lance answers him back in the same language, hot and sloppy and so, so good.

"Ok,” Keith gasps out against that sweet mouth. “Uh, good talk. Gimme your dick."

Lance bursts out laughing in his face. "Wow, babe, such romaaAH!" he yelps, flailing to his feet as Keith hauls him off the edge. "Ok maybe it's a little romantic, have I mentioned recently that it’s super hot that you can manhandle me like – well _hel_ lo –!"

He drops to his knees again, yanking Lance's underwear down as he goes. Fuck, he smells so good, _tastes_ so good. Keith tucks close, that velvety cock sliding hot against his cheek as he kisses the base, nips at the divot of his hip. Feels good, too. As he shoves his shorts down Keith worships his boyfriend’s body the way he deserves. Stroking his powerful thighs and the backs of his knees, already starting to damp with sweat. Enjoying the scratch of the hair on his calves against his palms. Grasping his ankles one at a time to step them out of his shorts. On the way back up Keith loops one arm around to hug his thigh, reaching between his legs with the other hand to fondle his balls.

The hand that isn’t holding the jizz bottle threads through Keith’s hair. Keith takes his dick into his mouth, and that comforting weight on his scalp tightens to a sweet sting when Lance closes his fist, eyes half-lidded and mouth dropping slightly in pleasure.

God, Keith wants to take him apart. Wants him to take Keith apart. He doesn’t know which he wants more.

“Ah yeah, you’re so good at this. It’s like you were born to suck dick, babe.” The praise sizzles through him, stoking the fire in his gut. “You want it?”

He pulls off just long enough to huff a response. “Any day now.”

“Mm, greedy.” The cap clicks open with a flick of Lance’s thumb.

A full-body twitch jolts through him at the faint thread of it in the air, sharper than the heady musk between his legs. Keith looks up as well as he can with his lips still hugging his cockhead, tonguing the slit. Lance is gorgeous from any point of view but Keith secretly loves this one. Gazing down at him, fond and aroused, that easy confidence that he carries in battle cut sharp in his dark eyes and the angle of his jaw.

Lance flips the bottle over, aims, and shoots.

The first stripe hits high on his cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose and down the other cheek in a fat diagonal. Scent explodes over him like a grenade. It's tepid compared to when it comes right from the source but warmer than he expected. Keith opens his eyes, which have blinked shut reflexively, to take in his boyfriend's heated eyes and parted lips. By now this part is familiar, as is Lance's cock twitching in his mouth and the salt of precum bursting bright over his tongue. But usually the wetness of Lance's spend on his skin marks the end of the line, and they're only just getting started. Even as he thinks that Lance squirts more ropes of cum down his cheeks and jaw. He keens at the tickle of it dribbling down his neck, completely hard in seconds.

Lance lowers the bottle. They haven't even made a dent in it. His hand is steady when he cups Keith's jaw and strokes it with one thumb, but his voice is breathless. "You like that?”

"Mhmm." Keith can't even bring himself to be embarrassed at how wrecked he already sounds.

“Want to keep going?”

“Mm _hmmmm._ ”

Cum splurts over his face and fringe in sticky layers. It reminds him of the time Lance talked him into trying a face mask, his deft hands smearing the clay thick and even. When he’s satisfied that his face is thoroughly coated, Lance shifts to drizzle looping designs over the crown of his head, a weight that makes his insides shift warmly. Globs of it drool from his jaw and hair to his shoulders and chest. The organic smell is so strong and heady it’d be suffocating if it were anything else but it’s like – it’s like being wrapped up cozily in a soft blanket, like Lance lying on top of him and hugging him tightly in their bed in the morning. Like he’s done something right, like he’s _satisfied_ the man he loves, like he’s lovely and wanted and chosen.

At this point he can barely focus on sucking dick, panting and mouthing the head with tongue and lips.

"Aw man, you look so hot babe," Lance croons. "Such a hot mess, such a gorgeous, sloppy fucked-out mess for me—”

The sound that punches out of him is guttural and desperate. All Keith wants to do is return the sentiment, stuffing as much of his fat cock in his mouth as he can fit, hungrily kneading the underside of his ass.

More wetness jets in long streaks down his back. A trail runs down to tickle at the top of his cleft, makes his spine arch and his mouth drop on a moan, Lance's dick slipping free. His fingers clutch convulsively at the backs of Lance's thighs.

“Hey, can I try –”

“Yeah, whatever, do it,” Keith gasps. He can’t imagine anything Lance could want that he wouldn’t seize with both hands right now.

“Oh man. Keith –“ Lance sounds as shattered as he feels. He leans back and grasps his own shaft, squeezes a fat, pearly dollop of cum onto the head of his cock, and smears it across Keith's parted lips.

Keith’s head tips back helplessly at the slick drag of it, an obscene almost-kiss. Even knowing it's artificial, the pungent smell alone of Lance's spend overwhelms his senses. With the bitter-salt-desire taste slathered on top of it all – it feels nothing short of luxuriously indulgent.

And then Lance nudges his wet cock over _that spot_ on his neck and Keith –

He jerks his hand down, lightning reflexes striking. Grips the base of his cock hard through his briefs. Trembles with adrenaline. Not the sharp-silvered adrenaline of battle, but like the aftershock of surprise that comes when you manage to twist the cap closed on a bottle of coke that’s been shaken just before it can spray everywhere.

“You’re that close?” Lance asks. “Already?”

His expression punts the initial lick of self-consciousness right out the door. Lance looks half a step away from eating him alive.

“Yeah,” Keith admits hoarsely. “You, uh. Smell really good.”

“Welp. It sure does smell like spunk in here,” Lance says, tipping the squeeze bottle back up. It’s still half full, oh fuck. “You look _so_ quiznacking – man. I’m not gonna last real long myself.”

The blue paladin’s dark eyes are round and he’s licking his bottom lip, staring down at Keith as though stunned. Keith can't even fathom what he must look like right now - he can feel his face and hair are just caked in cum, it's literally dripping off his chin in stringy strands, trailing down both back and front. It's all he can smell, all he can taste. The raw physical urge to _grind_ seizes at his spine and hips.

Keith squeezes himself a little tighter, trying to stave off orgasm.

If he wants to last more than five minutes, he just has to think unsexy thoughts. It’s hard to think of a single one, though, with his boyfriend’s rock-hard dick in his face and those eyes burning through him.

Lance kneels down with him to take hold of that wrist, rubbing his pulse point with his thumb. “Hey babe, it's ok. You look so good, I wanna make you feel good too. I wanna see you come like this.” 

“Ok. Ok,” Keith pants, nodding. He lets Lance maneuver him, sitting and slinging their thighs over each other to shuffle close, pulling Keith’s dick out of his shorts. And then his boyfriend squirts more jizz from the bottle all over his needy cock, knocking it against his own, and Keith moans, clinging to his shoulders.

“Please Lance, can you please...”

“Say the word and you’ve got it, babe.”

That alone just punches the breath out of him. "Hold me?"

“ _Honey_ —“ Lance tucks him closer, putting the bottle down to wrap his arm around his shoulders and press their temples together, other hand working between them. It’s warm and wonderful and everything he wanted. "It's not half bad as lube," he laughs breathlessly against Keith’s ear, and he’s done for.

His climax screams through him like a rocket, shuddering hard. The smell of his own cum spurting over Lance's knuckles spikes a sharp note through the heady fog of his lover’s mark, the mix of them together like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Instead of sating him, his orgasm just seems to push him higher, greedier, more desperate. He wants more, wants everything. “ _Fuck_ me, Lance.”

"You got it," Lance says, hugging him and stroking his back. It’s gentle, soft, and Keith loves when Lance is gentle with him but right now, right _now_ he wants – "I think the lube is up on the ledge - "

"No, use this." He snags the bottle from where it got dropped in their towel nest and slaps it against Lance's chest.

* * *

The suggestion hits Lance like an electrified punch to the gut. He's already been biting his lip to near bleeding to stop himself from coming just from how his boyfriend looks right now. He's a beautiful man without trying (seriously, he doesn't try, they've had _words_ about his care routine to no effect). Sucking Lance’s dick while letting him pull off a one-man bukkake party, he's like a pan of oven-warm cinnamon rolls iced before they’ve cooled. That is to say, hot and mouthwatering and liberally slathered in sticky white. "Oh my god, seriously," Lance half-laughs, half-gasps.

"Yeah, yeah," his mess of a boyfriend chants, delirious, already starting to wriggle away. He doesn't go far, just enough to untangle his legs and shuck his underwear the rest of the way off. Finally freed, he flings his shorts over the top of the tub to land out of sight. His pupils are dilated, leaving a scant ring of indigo around deep hungry black, and the sclera glow slightly gold the way they usually only do during battle.

"Whoa, hang on -"

Lance reaches out, catching the edges of his sticky face and bringing him in to get a closer look. The way Keith's lashes flutter at the touch aren't doing much to convince him that he's totally lucid. "Uh, can too much jizz like, make Galra drunk? Or high? Keith. You still with me here?"

"Sure am, sweetheart," Keith hums agreeably, swaying in for a kiss, then hesitates, blinking at him self-consciously. Wiping at his face with the back of his hand just smears the mess. Lance saves him the trouble and kisses him. It hardly seems fair to object to a bit of spunk on his mouth when Keith looks like he’s had a milkshake dumped over his head. And it’s totally worthwhile because Keith melts into it, murmuring warm and husky against his lips. "C'mon, Lance, fill me up and fuck me. We've got half the bottle left and it's not like we can stick it in the fridge."

Welp, that sure is bit of whiplash. If he weren't so turned on right now his junk would have inverted in horror at the thought of one of their teammates finding his, uh, creative misuse of medical equipment in the kitchen.

"Oh my god, don't even joke about that. I just grew a gray hair and undid five years' worth of mud masks, I swear- "

Keith laughs in that way he does before he and Red are about to do something reckless, bright and brassy, and flops back on the towel nest. He stretches like a sleepy cat before rolling over on his belly and smirking over his shoulder, hips and brow tipping up in tandem.

Lance’s mouth goes dry.

“Yeah ok,” he squeaks, scrambling over to kneel between Keith’s spread thighs. “You make a convincing argument!”

Lance thumbs at his cleft a little. He has unfairly soft skin for as little as he moisturizes (aka never, unless Lance does it for him, and only certain lotions, because he complains most of them smell weird) dappled with silvery-lavender scars and the occasional dark freckle or mole, but mostly pale and almost luminescent in the pearly light of the Altean bathing room. Cum glistens in long dripping stripes down his back. Lance gives in to the temptation to stroke his flank and admire the view, until Keith groans and grinds back against nothing uselessly.

“Any day now, Lance—"

He can’t help but giggle at his boyfriend’s impatience. "Alright babe, give me a target to shoot."

If he thought the view was good before, it’s out-dazzled by the sight of Keith hiking up on his knees and arching even more to reach behind himself with both hands and pull apart his muscled cheeks. Hoo boy. It’s very tempting to give a prayer of thanks for this meal and eat him out but Keith is getting antsy, fingers flexing and thighs trembling.

“ _I_ just grew a gray hair from _waiting_ for –"

Lance squeezes the bottle hard, shooting a long fat stream of cum right onto his exposed hole. At the shock of contact to that sensitive spot Keith yelps, flinching forward, then surging back at him like the tide, knees slipping even farther apart in the towel pile. The red paladin’s callused fingers clench to dimple his own ass, his pink rim glazed and gleaming as jizz dribbles down his taint and sack. “You like that?” Lance says, with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh shit,” Keith says faintly, muffled. His forehead is pressed into the plush towels, so Lance can’t see his expression, but one hand releases his own buttcheek to clutch at the towels above his head. “Ohh, shit…”

Lance takes his time decorating that fine caboose, striping cum in hatchmarks over his sculpted cheeks and upper thighs like syrup on a two-scoop sundae. He cocks his head to the side, dragging his fingers through the mess and making Keith shudder. After some consideration he pokes his tongue out in concentration and adds a big looping LM on his back with a lopsided heart.

“Whoops, it’s crooked.”

“Are you _drawing_ on me with your own semen?” Keith demands incredulously over his shoulder.

“You wanted my mark, I’m just adding a signature!”

“Oh my god,” Keith grumbles into the towels, and then much more breathily, “oh my _go_ ood,” when Lance gives several healthy squirts into the top of his cleft and thumbs at his hole, pressing in lightly with a squelch.

Prepping is so much _messier_ than it is with lube. It’s not as slippery and so he uses more to make up the difference as he fingers and stretches Keith’s hole, and it bubbles and drools in strands of pearly white against his flushed skin. His own cock is beading up with pre at the sight despite being ignored for the moment, that filthy, amazing sight and the sound of Keith’s voice cracking.

“Smells so good, feels so good, you’re so good Lance, you’re so, so good,” he’s rambling feverishly, gripping at the towels and pressing back against him, and it’s too much.

The bottle’s not empty yet but he's just got to do something about his throbbing cock. Abandoning the now-sticky bottle in the towel pile, Lance hefts himself over his boyfriend. Keith hums at the contact. His hot, sticky body plasters back against Lance’s chest and stomach and he tilts his head to expose the side of his neck, a clear plea to kiss and bite that Lance is all too eager to oblige. Lance's cock slips easily along his cleft, catching on his rim when their scramble to find a rhythm tightens to a hard, dirty grind. The scent of spunk is almost overwhelming, heavy and organic, and Lance doesn’t know how Keith can stand it with his much stronger sense of smell – but he’s more than just tolerating it, taking deep, heady breaths like he can’t get enough.

Every inch of Keith seems smudged with him, dark hair white-slicked and glued in strands to his cum-coated face, lips red where he's licked it away, wet ridges of it on his jaw and cheeks. And he let _Lance_ _do that_ to him. Lance sucks a hickey in that spot under his jaw Keith likes while he fucking wantonly between his cheeks, pinning him close with an arm around his waist. Over his shoulder Lance can see that he’s already half hard again.

“You really like this, huh.” Lance hugs his gross, gooey, incredible sexy boyfriend even closer, crushing their bodies together as if he could somehow fuse them if he just held him tight enough. “That’s so hot, sweetheart, you’re so hot like this, I thought you would love it, I knew you were a cumslut—”

“Ah! _Fuck_ me, Lance,” Keith cries, and it’s not begging, it’s a demand.

“On it,” Lance gasps, rearing back on his knees. Screwing three fingers into Keith’s still-tight asshole, he fumbles for the bottle among the towels, scissors his fingers apart, and pushes the nozzle between them to squirt what’s left right into him. He empties the bottle in several long, hard squeezes that make Keith writhe.

“Can you feel it when I do that?” Lance asks breathlessly, fucking his fingers in to push back against the flood of gluey white that’s gushing right back out again, shoving the nozzle deeper to give him the last of it.

Keith’s voice pitches and cracks. “Yeah! Aaah, fuck – can’t wait to feel you inside me –"

“If I even fit, you’ve already got like, ten loads up your ass.”

It’s impossible to make out any real words in Keith’s garbled, moaning response.

“Miracles of technology, right? I’d need to organize an orgy to stuff you like this the old-fashioned way, I don’t even want to think about what that invite would look like.”

Keith actually _growls_. Holy shit. Lance can feel it rattling in his own teeth and sternum.

“Fuck no,” he snarls, perfectly coherent now. “I don’t want other people's stink on me. Only you.”

Oh fuck that's hot. “Well maybe I should work on my stamina, sweetheart. Or maybe Alteans have magic Viagra too, huh? I’d have to keep you plugged up and give it to you all day to make this kind of mess on my own.” He twists his fingers into the squeaky-slippery mess, hooking them against his prostrate. “Are you that greedy for it, baby?”

“Yes,” Keith keens, “I am, I’m greedy, I want you, I wanna take anything you'll give me—"

That whining sound is definitely _him_ this time. “Oh my god. Keith, baby, you can have it. Anything you want, you deserve it, I wanna give you _everything_.”

Without hesitation he chucks the empty bottle aside. Cum squeezes out around his cock, fat globs of it splurting onto Keith's already white-caked cleft and inner cheeks, oozing down his dripping sac and thighs. It’s luscious and nasty, how warm and sloppy Keith is inside, completely saturated with him.

“’M not gonna last,” he gasps.

“S'ok,” Keith punches out, grinding back against him desperately. “You got me, you got me-“

Lance manages only a dozen obscenely squelchy thrusts before he’s coming with a choked cry, explosions behind his eyes, adding a hot, fresh load to his boyfriend's creamed-up hole.

His whole body relaxes like a sigh, covering Keith and rolling in lazy slowing waves. Keith is still taut and trembling, but goes willingly when Lance wraps an arm around him again and rolls them over onto their sides without pulling out. He smears his coated fingers across Keith's drying cheeks and into his mouth, muffling his moans. With the other hand Lance reaches around for his slick cock. Curling his palm over the tip, he draws circles under the head where he's sensitive with a fingertip. Keith is twitching and jerking as though electrified, hole pulsing around Lance’s softened dick, a livewire in his arms, breathing hard around the fingers he’s sucking on and whimpering with every exhale.

Keith comes a second time like it’s being dragged out of him, a stretch of winding tension that collapses soft and molten against Lance’s chest.

Letting his fingers slip out of Keith's mouth, Lance gently cups his spent cock against his abdomen and hugs him tight. Keith reaches up grip his arms, pressing back against him. His sticky chest heaves as he breathes deep and hard, expression almost pained as he slowly winds down.

“Thanks Lance,” Keith says softly, when he’s finally caught his breath.

Lance huffs a laugh, squeezing him tighter. “I feel like I should be the one thanking you. This is like, the fantasy I never knew I had.”

“I mean it. I know this is…I know it’s different.”

“It’s hot, babe. I already told you, I like making a mess of you.”

A sharp elbow taps him lightly in the belly. “I’m trying to say I love you and I’m lucky to have you, asshole.”

Lance smiles against his skin, his heart going gooey and overflowing in his chest. “Yeah, he whispers. “Me too.”

After a long, quiet moment, Keith starts shaking - laughing, Lance realizes. It’s making him shiver around Lance’s dick, still snugly nestled inside him.

“Hell. We are...revolting. I need to shower for a day.” Despite what he says, Keith seems to be reveling in the smell of them, tipping his head into the crook of his own shoulder and inhaling deeply, snuggling down into the gross towels, eyes still dilated and glowing. This is the most relaxed Lance has ever seen the red paladin.

“Mission accomplished, babe, even I can smell how much you reek of my cum.”

Keith fucking _preens_ like he’s just won a pageant.

As much as his boyfriend seems to like it, the mess is quickly becoming uncomfortable, drying crustily and flaking. “I’m going to have to burn these towels,” Lance realizes out loud.

“Hnn,” says Keith sleepily, probably more acknowledgement than agreement or objection.

“Ok sweetheart, I’m gonna pull out.”

“’K.”

Lance slips out of that sticky warmth, his soft cock followed by a gush of cum. Keith's breath catches, trembling – and then he abruptly rolls to his belly and spreads his thighs, arching his back to pop that ass up and expose his white-smeared cleft. Another fat blurt of cum rolls out of his hole and down his taint.

From the corner of his eye he’s watching Lance's own gobsmacked face, Lance realizes, a smirk pulling at his mouth. The little shit is totally doing this on purpose.

“You’re a menace,” Lance informs him. “And a sloppy mess, _dios_.”

“ _Your_ mess,” Keith says, smug as the cat who ate the entire cage of canaries, before he knows it he's got an armful of sticky boyfriend, a warm nose nuzzling into his neck and the underside of his jaw. Any other time he'd squeal and shove him away at the mess but - hell. He’s already all disgusting anyway. And the shower is just a few feet away.

Keith’s hole is hot and gooey when he slips a couple fingers down to play with it languidly, but still grasping tight and not fucked-out-loose. Of course, he didn’t really get to deliver on the proper fucking Keith asked for.

Maybe they can take a little extra time in the shower.

* * *

The afternoon melts by and Keith flows along with it feeling weirdly…settled. Even standing apart from Lance to dress and nab a pile of snacks from the kitchen feels as warm and comforting as being snugly bundled up in a safe little burrito, his clinging scent like a fuzzy weighted blanket.

Actually getting to hold Lance too makes it ten times better. Keith suggested going planetside for a proper date, because he knows Lance likes going out and doing things and it’s not often they get an opportunity to do so, but his boyfriend actually turned it down in favor of cuddling up on the couch and watching bizarre alien tv instead.

After a long-ass shower, that is. They probably would have needed a while just to actually get clean, even if Lance hadn't kept them in there even longer languidly fucking him until frothy cum sluiced down his thighs. Thank god the castle ship seems to have a near infinite hot water supply.

“This is nice,” Keith mumbles, nuzzling behind his ear, inhaling hazily.

“I mean it’s probably too messy to get away with when everyone’s around, but if you ever want to do this again….” Lance wriggles back against him a little, casting a flirty look over his shoulder.

Keith hums at that, and then blinks. “Uh. Does the replicator like...save a record?”

“Yeah, probably. I can make more whenever you want.”

“No, I mean…is Coran going to be able to tell what...?”

Lance’s face goes ashen. “…Oh my god.”

Keith nearly falls over in his urgent lunge off the couch. Warm fuzzy feelings? Have vacated the ship and are freezing out in space. “How long until everyone is supposed to get back?!”

“Maybe a couple of vargas??!!” Lance is right on his heels.

The two of them scramble for the lab.


End file.
